The Body Painter (Master of Trickery Book 1)

by Pepper Winters

  “Shit, sorry.” Justin held out his hand in surrender. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “I know.” My skin pebbled with goosebumps. “But I think you better go.”

  “I don’t want to leave without you.”

  “But you’re going to.”

  He stared at me and then the locked door, his eyes narrowed as if he could see Gil and the vodka he currently poured down his throat. “Don’t do this, O.”

  “Please go.”

  “I’m not comfortable leaving you here alone with him in his current condition.”

  “It’s none of your concern.”

  “You made it my concern when you asked for my help! I mean, you were in a car chase today! Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Worry about yourself, rather than him. If he’s the reason you’re in danger, then it makes sense to put distance between you until—”

  “Justin...” I waited until his shoulders slouched. “I appreciate all your advice and what you’ve done for me. Truly, I’m ever so grateful. I’m very glad to have you back in my life, and I owe you a huge debt, but...I’m not going to ask again. Gilbert pushed me away once. He succeeded back then, but this time...he won’t.”

  He paced with a sigh. “What if his disappearance is tied with the guy harassing you? What if this mess is only going to get worse and Gil can’t protect you—”

  “I have no doubt it’s connected.” I tipped my chin up. “And that’s why I’m staying. He’s been dealing with this on his own for too long. He can scream at me, get drunk, hurt me, yell at me, and call me every name he can, but until he tells me exactly what the hell is going on, I’m not leaving. I deserve to know. I’m owed answers. And he’s going to give them to me. Tonight. ”

  Our argument screeched to a standstill. Justin’s arms hung loosely by his sides, his defeat obvious. “You never stopped loving him, did you?”

  I stiffened. “What did I know of love? I was a teenager. We all were.”

  He gave me a depressing smile. “You knew.” Backing up, he grabbed his black blazer from where he’d tossed it on the back of the couch. “And I knew, even while we dated. I hope he deserves you, O. I truly do. I hope he has answers that give you peace.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’ll have my phone on me at all times. Call me if there’s anything you need. And I do mean anything, okay?”

  “Okay.” I smiled, unwilling to let him walk out angry. “Thanks again, Justin. Truly.”

  “You’re welcome.” With another grim look, he saluted me as if I’d been drafted into battle. “Please be safe.”

  I nodded.

  He let himself out.

  He left me alone with a man who didn’t want me.

  All because I’d commanded him to.

  Chills etched my skin with frosty lace as I inched toward the closed door. My knuckles rapped softly as I pressed my forehead on the unforgiving wood. “He’s gone, Gil. It’s just me.”

  No sound.

  No murmur.

  Nothing.

  I sighed heavily, twisting around to lean against the door. An owl perched above me and an otter played in the stream by my feet. The rainforest graffiti did its best to twist lies with truth...just like the painter who’d created it. “You haven’t just been with the police tonight...have you?” I looked around his living room, searching for clues on the dark mystery surrounding Gilbert Clark.

  But there was nothing.

  Just like there was nothing from Gil barricaded in the locked room.

  Sliding to the floor, I wrapped arms around my knees. “I think you’re hurting, Gil.” I kept my voice lower than a whisper. Too low for his ears behind the door. Almost too low for mine.

  Instead, I spoke to his apartment—to the bare kitchen and barren lounge. I asked the shadows to help me understand.

  “I think you’re caught up in something so much bigger than you or me. I think you’ve been dealing with it for a very long time. I think...”

  I swallowed hard as tears prickled and escaped the prison of my eyelashes, rolling wetly down my cheeks. A horrible realisation sprang into awareness. A horrendous connection between past and present. “I think...you disappeared from school because of whatever is hurting you now. I think you’ve kept a secret all these years, and it’s chewing you alive. I think you’re all alone and trapped, and if I’m right, I don’t know how I can ever forgive you for not turning to me. For not trusting me to be strong enough to help you. I loved you. I would’ve weathered any storm with you.”

  My tears stopped as I stared forlornly at the ceiling. “I was there for you then and you didn’t want me. I’m here for you now, and this time...you don’t have a choice.”

  Turning to press my hot, damp cheek to the door, I spoke loud enough for him to hear. “I’m not going anywhere, Gil. Not this time. So drink away your misery, hide behind this door, and take all the hours you need because when you come out, you’re going to tell me. Everything.”

  * * * * *

  My eyes flew open as something heavy tripped over me.

  The gloominess of the living room gave just enough illumination as Gil opened the locked door, stumbled drunk and bleary eyed, then somersaulted over me where I lay on the floor.

  He cursed as he twisted to cushion his fall, then grunted as the hard floor welcomed him with a cruel jolt.

  I sat bolt upright, reaching for his sprawled body. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

  “Kill me?” His voice once again held the heaviness of liquor and looseness. He hadn’t slurred, but he definitely wasn’t sober.

  “I must’ve fallen asleep.” I rubbed sleep-gritty eyes and stared at the clock.

  4:56 a.m.

  Gil had been alone and drinking for almost four hours.

  Sitting up on my knees, I turned to glance behind me into the room. I wanted to understand what he hid inside. To see if a blatant clue to whatever he was keeping secret lingered. But no light touched the shadows.

  All I could make out was another mattress with a side table and a silver lightshade. Something hulked on the bed as if a silent figure slept beneath blankets. A faint scent of strawberry escaped, wrapping around me like a rope.

  My heart rate skyrocketed as I crawled toward the threshold, determined to understand.

  However, Gil beat me.

  Even in his alcohol-induced wobbliness, he swooped to unsteady feet and yanked the door closed. He locked it before I could determine if the bed held a peaceful dreamer or something more sinister.

  “I told you...to leave, Olin.” He sniffed loudly, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Earth smeared his clothes, tainting him with musty undergrowth and tart evergreen.

  Climbing to my feet, I touched the grime on his T-shirt. “Were you in a forest?”

  He stiffened, then swatted my hand away. “I was many places.” Stalking to his bedroom, he didn’t make eye contact as he slipped inside.

  He hadn’t invited me.

  He’d made it obvious I wasn’t welcome.

  I followed him regardless.

  I waited while he kicked off his boots and yanked down his jeans. He didn’t look to see if his stripping affected me. The vodka haze had given him blinders, making him focus on one thing and one thing only.

  He swayed as he struggled to jerk his jeans from his feet, then grumbled as he wrestled his T-shirt over his head.

  Unlike his clothing, his skin was clean from blood and mud. His muscles stood out with definition that seemed almost barbaric—as if he hadn’t eaten properly in months and his body fought hard to maintain the power it had created. His biceps bunched as he buried his face in both hands and groaned as if trying to find the strength to carry on and not let his demons win.

  Wading from the pile of clothing, he cut across the small room in just his boxer-briefs and tumbled face first onto his bed on the floor. His back rippled with more muscle as he hugged a pillow and gave into liquor-induced lethargy.

  He hadn’t looked at me.

  He hadn�
��t told me to leave or stay or showed any sign he cared either way.

  I had no idea what to do.

  I’d prepared for another battle. I’d fallen asleep writing scripts on how to respond to the inevitable argument. But how was I supposed to argue with someone who’d shut down and blocked me out?

  I stood like a ghost at the end of his bed, studying him as he breathed slow and deep. His arms rippled with tension as he hugged the pillow as if throttling it, silencing it, doing his best to still the chaos inside him.

  He might seem quiet on the outside, but his thoughts filled the room with noise. Angry, vengeful, trapped. A noise that scratched my skin and made me search the corners for a malicious enemy.

  Everything about Gil spoke of a man who ought to have it all—wealth, fame, talent. Yet, something was missing in him. Something fundamental—as if his soul had been ripped from him and left him with just a wasteland filled with darkness.

  I hugged myself as another wash of goosebumps found me.

  What the hell was in that locked room? Was someone in there? What had he dealt with to be this wretched?

  Questions ran riot. Anxiety lived in nervous heartbeats. I tried to formulate a question that would tell me everything. To learn in one swoop what’d happened to him so I could ease the brittle affliction wrapped tight around his heart.

  But Gil had dealt with whatever hurt him by his own method. He’d tried to drown out the noise, delete the pain, and for a single breath, he looked as if he’d won a hard-earned moment of peace.

  As much as I needed to know, I couldn’t take that peace away from him. I couldn’t ask him to step back into the storm he carried.

  No matter what he’d done, run from, or was involved in, I couldn’t be the cause of more agony.

  Not right now.

  Padding toward his mattress, I lowered to my knees and crawled over to him.

  He didn’t need an inquisition. He needed silence.

  A friend.

  Family.

  He tensed as I lay beside him. His eyes never opened, and his forehead tugged low into a harsh frown. His hand disappeared under his pillow, clutching something small and furry.

  Without a word, I tugged up the edge of the pillow to see what he held.

  My heart promptly bled out. No tourniquet or bandage could stop the flow.

  Tears spilled from me as his face screwed up in torment, clutching the stuffed owl in his fist.

  An owl.

  A silly child’s toy.

  A toy with woodland feathers and big, soulful eyes.

  Owl...for O.

  “Gil...” Ripping my hand from the pillow, I cradled his cheek instead. He shivered as I bent to nuzzle his nose with mine, our faces wedged against fresh cotton, the reek of alcohol unwelcome.

  “What are you hiding?” I moaned, kissing his lips with sadness. “It’s killing you, can’t you see? You have to tell someone.”

  His skin turned ashen as he pulled away from my kiss, shaking his head as if he couldn’t stand the connection.

  He lay on his back with an arm thrown over his eyes, erasing the outside world.

  Erasing me.

  But I didn’t let him.

  Straddling him in bed, I bowed over him and cupped his cheeks. Rolling my spine, I cradled him, giving him shelter with my body, kissing him again. I kissed him shallowly and sweetly, all while tears plopped from my cheeks to his, running along his jawline and down his throat.

  He trembled worse with every heart-pound. His skin turned icy, and another noise of a wounded prey and furious predator grumbled in his chest. He shuddered the longer I kissed him, withdrawing into places I couldn’t follow.

  He didn’t shove me away, but second by second, his unyielding tension hinted that having me on top wasn’t enjoyable for him. I tasted his reluctance in the kisses he refused to return. I felt it in the snow rapidly chilling his skin.

  His trembles were that of someone who would face a monster but knew the price was death if he did.

  Ripping my mouth from his, I sat up and rolled off him, swiping at my tears and confusion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...”

  His jaw worked, and he shook his head sharply.

  He didn’t speak as if words were too much to bear.

  “God, I’m—” I sniffed and plucked at his blankets. “All I want to do is help. I want to prove you can trust me. I want you to know that, despite your secrets and my fear of what you’re hiding, I’m not walking away. I want to help you, Gil, but everything I do only seems to make it worse.”

  His body stayed tight and unmovable.

  I inched farther away from him, giving him space.

  A few seconds after I shifted, he slowly came alive again. His arm slipped from his eyes, and he blinked as if disoriented. As if he didn’t recognise his room, this night...me.

  His green gaze met mine and, once again, that heart-breaking suspicion of tears hurt me worse than any curse or fist.

  I’d never known him to show his emotions at school. I’d seen him bleeding and bruised, sleep deprived and starving, yet he’d never once looked on the brink of breaking.

  Not like now.

  And that drained me of my silly attempt at being his strength because if Gilbert Clark—the boy who took on the world without one whinge about injustice—could look so perfectly destroyed, something was seriously, seriously wrong.

  “It’s me, Gil. Just me.” I itched to reach out and touch him, but I refrained.

  The sigh that escaped him was full-bodied and from his soul. It whistled through his chest, gusted from his lips, and left his body boneless in relief.

  I waited for him to ask me to leave.

  For his previous commands to be obeyed.

  Instead, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me down beside him. With shaky fingers, he positioned me until we lay facing each other. His eyes searched mine, fast and probing. His fingers caressed hair behind my ear. He arched closer and pressed a kiss to my forehead with such sweet-hearted tenderness my heart cried.

  He still didn’t speak, but his touch spoke volumes.

  Stay.

  Please.

  I need you.

  I nodded, placing my hands on his naked chest. The flutter of his heart singed my fingertips.

  His lips thinned. His skin hadn’t lost the ashen pallor of before. He inhaled deep, and, ever so slowly, bent to kiss me.

  Our breath connected first, plaiting together with hesitation and want. Our lips met next, exquisitely soft and velvet. We stayed in that bubble of anticipation for ages. Butterflies gathered, desire quickened, the sensation of such a breakable kiss was so different to the aggressive, explosive arousal we’d shared before.

  This was paper thin and precious. This wasn’t two adults experienced in lovemaking, but two teenagers who’d been in love for so damn long.

  His mouth whispered over mine, sending shockwaves over my lips. He never moved to increase the pressure, and I didn’t want to break the intoxicating spell he’d cast over me.

  Never had a kiss had the power to invoke an entire body shiver.

  Never had a touch pampered me with feathery urgency, all while promising priceless rewards if we didn’t rush.

  He kissed me, and I kissed him back. Neither of us pushed for more, content in the delicate freedom we’d created. Our lips stayed dry and innocent against each other’s, adding friction and heat. My nipples pebbled to be touched, his heart rate switched from a flutter to a steady knock against his ribs.

  And still we didn’t break the boundaries of virtuous. This kiss felt safe. It gave Gil exactly what I’d wanted—a place of unconditional acceptance and patience.

  I sighed, melting into his control.

  The moment I gave him utmost ownership over me, the tip of his tongue licked my bottom lip. Barely there, an erotic tease.

  I moaned, trembling. My body liquefied and nullified—preparing for him and cancelling anything else. My fingers claimed his chest; my mouth parted with invitati
on.

  We hovered on the precipice of a simple kiss evolving to sizzling sex.

  Gil wasn’t sober, but he’d successfully made my head swim with desire, so we were both inebriated and at the mercy of baser controls.

  However, instead of deepening the kiss, he pulled away with a heart-wrenching groan. “I can’t.” His eyelids slammed over blazing, blistering green. “I’m sorry.”

  I trembled again, but this time with worry. “It’s fine. I’m not expecting—”

  “I want you, O. I want you so fucking much.” His eyes snapped open again. “Turning you away tonight. Fuck.” A cruel laugh shattered our safe silence. “Turning you away every time...it rips me apart.”

  I froze. Was this Gil talking or the vodka? Was this naked truth or embolden fibs?

  “You don’t need to explain—”

  “Do you know what I thought when I first saw you again?” His forehead furrowed with grief. “I thought...how did I think I was living when you’ve had a piece of me this entire time? A piece I’ve been missing and could never replace.”

  Tugging me to him, he buried his face in the crook of my neck, preventing me from watching him. “I almost buckled to my knees when I recognised you. I fought every instinct to call you mine.”

  I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him hard. “I felt the same. A punch to the chest...like I came alive again and—”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “How can I not when you’re—”

  “You haven’t heard the rest yet.” His lips skated over the side of my throat, a threat rather than a caress. “I saw you, remembered you, wanted you, and then, I cursed you. I swore at motherfucking fate for putting you back in my life.”

  His words were scalpels slicing deep, while his voice was poison, pouring directly onto the wounds. I struggled in his embrace, trying to study his features. “Wh-what is that supposed—”

  “I left for a reason bigger than you or me. I left because I had no other choice. For years, I survived without you. I lied and made myself believe I’d forgotten you. But every day, I’d see an orange or an octopus or something beginning with O, and I’d remember all over again. And I’d hate that I’d had to leave you. I’d beg for some way of explaining things—of making you understand why I left.”